


The Lady and the Tiger

by TheseusInTheMaze



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Awkward Sexual Situations, Dream Sex, F/F, Only One Bed, Somnophilia, enemies sharing a bed, thigh riding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-29
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-18 16:46:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28870272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheseusInTheMaze/pseuds/TheseusInTheMaze
Summary: "There's a chair," Clara said. "D'you want to flip a coin for the bed? Rock, paper, scissors?""Nonsense," Missy said. "It's a big bed. We'll both fit."That'll be like sleeping next to a tiger, Clara thought, but she was staggering with exhaustion, and the motel room had a working shower and a bed, which seemed like a fever dream at this point.
Relationships: Missy/Clara Oswin Oswald
Comments: 4
Kudos: 41
Collections: Bulletproof 20/21





	The Lady and the Tiger

**Author's Note:**

  * For [theultimateburrito](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theultimateburrito/gifts).



> I had an absolute blast writing this, and I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I liked writing it!

"If this were a movie, I'd call it hackneyed," Missy said, dusting her hands off and wrinkling her nose. "Really, darling, you couldn't even get us a room with two beds?"

Clara frowned, crossed her arms across her chest. "You're just cross because I didn't let you kill anyone," Clara said, and she sighed. "We're stuck here until the snow stops and the Doctor finds the TARDIS, so we might as well make the best of it." 

Missy pursed her lips, and Clara wanted to rub her temples. Why her? Why did this keep happening to her? 

"Well," Missy said, "I suppose we'll have to make the best of it, then. Keep calm and carry on, that’s your national character, isn’t it?” 

"There's a chair," Clara said, indicating said chair. It looked fairly comfortable, for a chair. Clara had made due with worse, during her uni days. "D'you want to flip a coin for the bed? Rock, paper, scissors?" 

"Nonsense," Missy said. "It's a big bed. We'll both fit." 

_That'll be like sleeping next to a tiger,_ Clara thought, but she was staggering with exhaustion, and the motel room had a working shower and a bed, which seemed like a fever dream at this point. 

"Really, Clara, a tiger? You couldn't have gone with the standard 'cougar' nomenclature?" Missy struck... some kind of pose. 

"Stay out of my head," Clara said, wrinkling her nose, and then she yawned, and swayed on her feet.

Missy put a hand on Clara's shoulder. "Don't go flashing your thoughts around like that, then," she countered. "You're practically bellowing. You humans are forever psychically shouting." 

Clara sighed. "You're just going to have to put up with more shouting, if you're in bed with me," Clara said, and then she flushed, because _wow_ that was a thing to say, wasn't it? She was usually all for a double entendre, but around _Missy_.... 

"The Doctor would have mentioned if you were a screamer," Missy said, and she was smirking. 

"I'm going to take a shower," Clara said, because she was too tired to verbally spar with Missy right now. 

"You do that," said Missy. She was taking her hat off, staring at herself in the mirror and frowning at her reflection. "Don't use all the shampoo, or I'll disembowel you myself. _I_ was standing closer to it when it exploded."

Clara didn't make the dismissive motion she was thinking, but she heard Missy snort regardless.

Whatever.

She was going to wash the guts out of her hair and then she was going to find some way to sleep. She remembered reading stories about knights and ladies sleeping in a bed together with an unsheathed sword between the two of them, but the idea of Missy with any kind of weapon, let alone a big, dangerous one like that...

No.

-*-

Clara took a long, hot shower, not getting out until all of the dried slime had been fully washed from her hair and scrubbed from her skin. She washed the filth out of her clothes, and was endlessly grateful that she'd worn an undershirt. Her dress was hung from the towel rack, and she kept the towel wrapped around her waist. 

"Well, took you long enough," said Missy. She was brushing her hair - where had she even gotten the hairbrush? Her outfit didn't seem to have any pockets.

Then again, Time Lords and their dimensional engineering. Maybe they had dimensional tailoring as well. 

"I had to get it all out of my hair," Clara said stiffly. Miss had taken off her blazer, and rolled up the sleeves of her blouse. Her hair was down, and it was wild around her face, like a lion's mane. 

Clara must have been tired, to be making _those_ comparisons. 

"Please do remember my comments in regards to shampoo and disembowelment," Missy said pleasantly, and then she was walking into the bathroom, the door closing with a little _snick_.

Clara let the towel drop, and she shivered as the cool air hit her bare thighs. She'd slept in knickers and a tank top before, but doing it beside Missy seemed to be especially... fraught.

As if anything around Missy _didn't_ feel fraught. 

Clara's self preservation instincts were swallowed up by the wave of exhaustion that washed over her, and she barely had time to pull her blanket over her legs before she was out like a light. 

-*-

She knew she was dreaming, on some level. The logic of dreams made perfect sense in dreams, but even in dreams there was always that little bit of her mind critiquing how it didn't make sense. 

In the dream, she was walking besides a great cat - it kept flickering, from black and orange to white and black to sandy colored, but it kept pace with her, even as she weaved and dodged. It was some labyrinthine expanse, and maybe it was the guts of the TARDIS, and maybe it was some strange structure on another planet, but it went on for miles in all directions. 

She knew this, the way she knew that the bare feet slapping on the tile were her own, and the tickle of her loose hair against her shoulders. The great cat was sometimes close enough to her that they were almost touching, sometimes separated by a glass barrier or a wall or... something, but it was still there, and it set her on edge.

She had to get out. She had to help the Doctor. The Doctor was on the outside of the labyrinth, and if she could just get _out_...

"This is downright cliche, you know," the cat said at one point, and Clara looked over at it, frowning. 

"It's rude to critique other people," Clara said, and of course she didn't think to question why a tiger (or was it a puma?) was talking to her. 

Admittedly, she'd spent enough time with the Doctor that she was no longer entirely surprised when animals talked. It was a little bit like being in Narnia, really.

The landscape seemed to shift - or maybe some time passed? Clara wasn't sure which, exactly, except now she was in a winter forest, the rough tree bark pressing into her back, and the cold was leaching into her legs. She was barefoot, and the dress that she was wearing now had some kind of fur trim around the collar. 

The tiger was in front of her, and it was Missy, except Missy was also the tiger. Somehow. 

"I'm not critiquing," Missy said. "Merely offering my opinion. You're a teacher, don't you know how these things work?" One hand came up to stroke the hair out of Clara's face, and there was a moment when it was a paw, and then a hand again. There was the hint of claws on the edges of it, and that sent shivers down Clara's spine. 

"I'm not a teacher here," said Clara, because that wasn't the role she filled in an ermine collar. 

Missy was a lion for a moment, and Clara was hit with the vivid sense memory of being sixteen and reading _The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe_ under the covers, thinking about how much she wanted to kiss Susan. The sheet was resting on the top of her head, and the light of the torch was bright against the pages, and when she blinked the spots out of her eyes Missy's own were very close to hers, and they were almost touching noses. 

That didn't make sense, though, because if Missy was going to be anyone, she'd be the White Witch, right? 

"Talk about cliche ," Missy grumbled, and then she kissed Clara with her red, red mouth, which would _not_ have looked right on the White Witch's face. Her tongue was in Clara's mouth and then she was twisting the two of them, and Clara was wrapping her arms around the great, cold tree. The tree, that was somehow soft and giving. Sort of. In parts. 

There was a branch now, and it was parting the skirts of her royal dress. Was she royal? 

_This is better than the other sex dreams I've had_ , some analytical part of her brain pointed out. _Genocidal maniac she may be, but at least she's not your old PE teacher. The cranky one, not the hot one._

“You humans,” Missy huffed, and the branch between Clara’s legs pressed a little harder, began to move as if it was swaying in the breeze, or maybe in an earthquake. She clutched the tree, and it was moving as if it was breathing. “You humans, you’re nothing but meat and chemicals following the same worn out urge, and yet you somehow still manage to be scandalized by it.” Missy’s fingers were in Clara’s hair, pulling her head back, and Missy’s breath was hot on her neck. 

“It’s… complicated,” Clara mumbled, because really, how to explain the finer points of being made of meat and electricity and chemicals, of living in the world as a finite being. 

… it all made sense to her dream self, at any rate. 

There were fingers tangled in her hair, and now the dream was fraying at the edges, but the hands in her hair seemed firmer. So did the pressure between her legs. Her thighs were around it now, holding on tight, and that was… odd. 

“Nothing in life is as complicated as you make it,” said the tree, who was now also Missy, and the softness against Clara’s cheek was warmer than the snow, and something was thrumming against her ear. It was like she was lying with her head on a stereo playing drums. Thundering drums, and the pulling at her scalp was pulling her further from sleep.

Clara woke up.

She woke up with a jerk, and the desperate pleasure that was thrumming along her nerves hit like a hammer to the temple. She blinked into the golden light (from the bedside lamp, maybe, unless they’d somehow ended up back on the TARDIS?) and saw Missy’s blue eyes glinting back at her. When had she gotten on top of Missy? Why was Missy not killing her for doing so? 

“That must have been some dream you were having,” Missy said, and she flexed her leg, forcing her knee up against Clara’s cunt. “You’ve _drenched_ me in human pheromones. I’ll need a shower. Or maybe I’ll just use this slip for human baiting.”

Clara paused, arousal and confusion battling in her head. “What?”

“Human bait,” Missy said, and her voice vibrated up through Clara’s head, and her hearts were beating calmly against Missy’s ears. “You know, like turkey baiting?” The hand in Clara’s hair forced Clara’s head back a little further, and the thigh Clara was straddling gave another grind. “Honestly. Have you never been hunting?”

“No,” Clara said. “No, that is not, in fact, a thing I’ve done. Or will ever want to do. Do I look like the type of person who’d go hunting?” She hissed, then whined as Missy twisted the hair in her fist enough to make Clara’s head tilt further back, the steady pressure making Clara’s heart beat that much faster. 

“You didn’t look like the type of person who’d just start humping my leg in your sleep like some kind of slobbering Saint Bernard, and yet,” Missy said, and she gave another press of her leg, her knee solid and sharp against Clara’s cunt. It shouldn’t have felt half as good as it did. 

“I’m sorry,” Clara said, her voice thick. “I didn’t…” She was still moving her hips, and she was clutching at Missy’s thigh. Her breasts were jiggling, and she caught Missy’s eyes tracing the lines of her cleavage. 

“You don’t feel sorry,” Missy said, and she gave an exaggerated little jiggle of her leg that ground something against Clara’s clit, which made Clara’s eyes cross, an embarrassing noise flying out of her mouth. “You feel like you’re about to come on my leg, actually. Is that what you’re going to do, Clara?”

“I -” Clara started to say, and then Missy’s sharp fingers were pinching her nipple, and Clara hissed through her teeth, losing her train of thought. She dug her knees into Missy’s thigh, and Missy twisted her nipple through the undershirt. “You… you were in my dream,” Clara panted.

“Hard not to be, as hard as you were broadcasting,” said Missy. “It’s a wonder the Doctor gets anything done, with all the mental shouting you do. Are you always that loud in your sleep?” 

“I… don’t know,” Clara said, and that wasn’t the proper witty repartee she was supposed to give, but now Missy’s nails were raking down her back through the undershirt, and her breast was being squeezed. She was panting, sweat dripping down her back to puddle on the backs of her knees and making her hair stick to her face, to her neck. 

Missy’s hands were on her arse, keeping her in place. The sticky confines of the knickers were slimy against her, and she was shaking, the pleasure curdling in her guts like hot lead. She squeezed her eyes shut, so she wouldn’t have to look up into Missy’s face, and then they were forced open, when Missy pinched her nipple and her arse in concert.

“I’ve got a little confession to make,” Missy said, and she gave Clara’s nipple another twist. “I might have been influencing you a little bit. A teensy little bit. Just enough to get you nice and revved up - it always is funny, seeing you humans writhe around like that.” 

Clara gritted her teeth. She really shouldn’t have been turned on by this. She wasn’t entirely sure why she was, except that the way her clit was being pressed through the thin cotton of her knickers was _almost_ enough to send her over the edge.

“And the way your little face screwed up when I started touching you… really, dearie, how could I resist?” Another twist of Clara’s nipple, and Missy’s smile had a few too many teeth. 

Clara came against Missy’s leg, and she was rubbing her clit desperately into Missy’s knee to prolong the sweet, hot rush that left her wrung out and gasping. She didn’t even protest when Missy pushed her back on the bed. She lay flat on her back, panting up at the ceiling, and then she looked over at Missy, who was smirking.

Of course she was.

“Would you like me to… return the favor?” Clara cleared her throat. 

“What, graciously accept me humping your leg like a dog in heat while you’re trying to read?” Missy raised an eyebrow.

“Um,” said Clara, because she didn’t have an answer. “I’m going to…” She trailed off, making her way towards the toilet. 

“You do that,” said Missy, and Clara didn’t want to turn around. 

It felt a little too much like turning her back on a tiger.


End file.
